


Lucky Crookshanks

by Rozarka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-24
Updated: 2006-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viktor and Crookshanks have a showdown over Hermione's lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Crookshanks

Crookshanks was not at all what he would have pictured as Hermione's familiar, had Viktor had cause beforehand to ponder the question.

It wasn't so much that it was a _cat_ , although an owl might have been his first bet. But if he had guessed at a cat, he would have thought of something smaller, neater: a sleek grey mouser or a brown mackerel tabby with guarded green eyes and a supercilious air.

Instead it was this stocky, fluffy, flat-faced thing with angry-red fur and an angry-yellow stare, exhibiting highly proprietary behaviour around its mistress. Even here in the library she tolerated its ingratiating twirls around her legs and its claims on her lap without frowning at the distraction. Whereas if Viktor attempted anything remotely in the same vein (although he wasn't remotely as bold), he was treated to a strict, if affectionate look and admonishments to wait until they were done with their homework.

Pets weren't normally allowed inside the library -- Viktor had once seen the fearsome Madam Pince chew out a first-year boy whose toad had escaped from his pocket, jumping and burping from shelf to shelf -- but Hermione had more favour with the fierce librarian than most, and on the odd occasion that Crookshanks chose to slip before Hermione inside the library doors, Madam Pince would discreetly turn her back. It probably helped that Crookshanks seemed to have a better understanding than many humans of what constituted acceptable library habits.

Crookshanks was odd for his kind. Viktor liked cats well enough, if they were the friendly and easy-going sort. But this looked less like a cat and more like a squashed plush pillow with claws and a questionable attitude.

"He's such a sweetheart," purred Hermione down at the creature that had just walked three times around its own tail on her thighs before settling in the deep of her lap. The purr was echoed from within the red bales of fur, and Viktor couldn't help the envious thought that if he had been the one lying curled up against Hermione's warm stomach, he would have purred too.

Something yellow blinked at Viktor, twice, deliberate, alight with an almost scary intelligence. Maybe not such an unlikely pet for Hermione after all? Viktor wondered uncomfortably whether cats could read minds.

"See, he likes you," stated Hermione in satisfaction, beaming at Viktor as she laid her quill down on the blotter. "Go on, you can pet him."

Viktor blinked his eyes back at the cat, a goodwill gesture to test the waters. There was another peaceful blink in return, but Viktor didn't hold the beast above skewing its body language to delude him in the negotiations. He hesitated, his hand hovering in mid-air above the target.

"Oh, come on!" said Hermione, sounding rather put out. "He's just a sweet kitty! Poor Crookshanks, Ron hates you and now Viktor --"

"Do _not_ hate Crooksh -- Crooksh -- cat," Viktor interjected promptly. That settled it; if Hermione's grouchy red-haired friend hated the feline, then Viktor _would_ like it. "Nice cat," he murmured, lowering his hand and bringing it in front of the triangular pink nose before he carefully rubbed his knuckles over the cat's head. 

Yellow eyes locked with Viktor's dark ones, both pairs cool, wide and assessing for a second before cat and man blinked slowly in unison. Viktor was the first to glance away, allowing the cat dominance. He wasn't forgetting which of them had four sets of claws at their disposal.

"See?" crooned Hermione, whether to him or the cat, Viktor was hard pressed to determine. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Crook -- Crooksh -- " Viktor cursed softly in Bulgarian. Leave it to Hermione to give her cat a name that was even more impossible to pronounce than her own.

"Crook ... shanks," enunciated Hermione patiently.

"Crook ... shanks has stopped purring," Viktor informed her. "Seems ... angry?"

"Nonsense. Scratch around his ears, front to back. He adores it."

"Hmm..." Viktor followed orders. Gently, yet not _too_ gently. It was finding the exact, perfect amount of pressure that would please a cat, he knew, so he applied it judiciously, and after some grudging hesitation the purr resumed, a soft whirr of sound from the cat's throat.

Viktor rubbed the cat's head repeatedly in the direction specified, and then let his fingers slide through the fur -- silky to the touch, he must admit -- to the neck, smoothing through the ruff there with deft-fingered patience. Crookshanks inclined his head just so, eyes half-closed and his mouth barely open to show little points of teeth, inviting pleasure without admitting to it overtly.

What Viktor had noticed, meanwhile, was that at each stroke of his long fingers through the ruff of fur, his finger pads were grazing Hermione's stomach. Through her shirt and sweater the touch was feather light, but he still was distracted by her body heat at his fingertips, by the way she sucked in a small surprised breath each time. Uncertain whether he was interpreting this phenomenon correctly, he widened his area of operation, caressing the full length of the cat's flank next in an unhurried, gliding stroke, his knuckles skimming gently along the soft lower swell of Hermione's belly.

She tensed, then gave a sound the second time he did it, a whispered, unsteady "Oh," more sigh than word. Viktor glanced up, discovered her face flushed rosy, soft and wide-eyed, and let out a low grunt, sucker-punched by desire. His palm curled open by its own volition to lie flat over her stomach.

_"AI!"_

He nursed his maimed hand to his chest, glaring at Crookshanks, who glared at him in return before retracting blood-stained claws with a near-audible _*ping*_ , then brushed intimately along his mistress's front, his flat forehead butting against her left breast. After this lesson in lack of subtlety, he jumped down on the floor and shimmied into a luxuriant stretch, his fluffy arse turned in Viktor's general direction.

"This is a library, young man! Kindly lower your voice!" hissed Madam Pince at Viktor, swooping from behind the shelves to add insult to injury. She tended to treat him as a thorn in her side anyway, because of the trail of tittering girls he was sometimes dragging along, and now arched her eyebrow at Hermione, as though intimating that she was frankly surprised at her choice of company.

Viktor glowered from Madam Pince to the cat and back, speechless and smarting, until both saw fit to leave, Crookshanks holding his tail aloft in a lazy ginger curl. A crazy certainty struck Viktor: he'd been set up. 

"Um, I ... I think you petted too close to his belly," Hermione offered with a nervous, wide gaze and poorly hidden laughter. "Cats don't like that; they feel threatened."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. " _His_ belly, hm?"

Her face pink-tinged, she ran her palms over her stomach in what seemed a tentative caress, echoing Viktor's touch there. "Well ... I suspect he _thinks_ of it as his."

With a low snort of laughter, Viktor leaned back in the chair. Gently sucking the blood off his wounded knuckles, he glanced from Hermione's smirking, blushing face to the subtle curves defining her lap, to her ink-stained fingers reaching again for her quill.

Damned cat had marked territory, and who could blame him? Entitled to such a warm, soft place, such clever hands to pet him. Lucky Crookshanks.

 

-end-


End file.
